


Always

by Breyito



Series: 2020 Geraskier Week [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Geraskier Week, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breyito/pseuds/Breyito
Summary: In the aftermath of a hunt; Geralt realises that Jaskier has his Soulmark exposed. Despite their many years travelling together, he has never seen that part of the bard’s hip naked. Seeing the image before Jaskier can cover it, the Witcher understands why.Geraskier Week: Day 1- Soulmates
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: 2020 Geraskier Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635739
Comments: 18
Kudos: 1120





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> New fandom!!! I've been consuming pretty much everything there is in this fandom since the show came out; and I figured it was time to contribute.  
> Warning: I have not written anything in a LONG time, so be gentle please. No beta, so if you find any mistakes please tell me.  
> Enjoy!

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” roared Geralt, furious and upset. 

“Are you _serious_ right now!?” Jaskier said, also raising his voice. The Witcher, despite his anger, could not help but think that this was one of the reasons they fit so well together: Jaskier did not backed down when confronting Geralt; at least, not out of fear. Unless Geralt could prove his reasons were logical, true (and sometimes not even then) the bard would always match him step for step, in an argument. His approach would change (gentle when he saw the Witcher felt raw inside; lighthearted when it was too soon to discuss whatever Geralt was choking back; stubborn and inmovable when despite the Witcher’s desires they _needed_ to adress the issue); but most of the time he would get the answers he wanted out of the Witcher. “You spit on Destiny every day; you _hate_ whenever you feel people don’t give you choices; you despise being held back by predestined _bullshit_!” 

Jaskier was hurting. His scent, while not sour with fear, was bitter with sadness and rank with nerveousness. The combination was unpleasant and put the Witcher on edge; because unlike the excitable kind of nerves that the bard let off when about to take the stage, or present him with a new song on the road; it was not intertwined with the summer rose of joy, or the dewy and earthy after-rain scent of comfort. Jaskier was hurting deep, and Geralt did not know how to make it stop; how to make _himself_ stop hurting him. 

“How long?” he asked, trying to calm down. This was his bard; he did not want to scare him away. He had not really tried to do that in a long, long time. This, this was his _soulmate,_ and whatever reasons he had for keeping his distance from the bard; reasons that had seemed so very important and logical and _inescapable_ just yesterday were now mere puffs of smoke far away in the distance. Still, he had to know for how long he could have had this already. “How long have you known?”

“Geralt, I. I do not think it is a good idea-” suddenly there was no more space between them. Geralt had the bard pinned against one of the threes that had survived the fight with the Griffin. The Witcher removes his right glove with his teeth and places his hand deliberately on Jaskier’s naked hip, over the Mark that proclaims him as _his_ . The fabric had teared on a branch when he had been runing through the trees, trying to scape the beast that had latched onto his scent. Geralt tears the teal fabric until the whole Mark is exposed to the elements. He rubs his thumb over the image, feeling the other man shudder and swallow, looking up at him and then over his shoulder, bitting his bottom lip. Faint notes of the citrusy smell of oranges Jaskier always gave off when he was aroused tingled his nose; but he would not let himself be distracted from what he wanted, _needed_ , to know. Even though he felt an inmense relief at the confirmation that his bard (his little songbird, his companion, his friend, his _soulmate_ -) was not afraid of being near him, of his reactions. He made his touch gentle, _so_ gentle that there would be no way of Jaskier misinterpreting it. He wanted his soulmate. He wanted him as much as he suspected Jaskier wanted him (had suspected for _ye_ ars, in fact; years full of misery expecting someone brighter, softer, safer, _better_ to show up in the bard’s life to whisk him away; years he spent already mourning his lark’s death, just to ease the pain a little bit that would follow when the frail human finally left him). 

“ _When_ did you realise, little lark?” he asked, murmuring, lips gently touching the outer shell of one of the bard’s ears then retreating to see his face. He could hear lies in the beats of a heart; and smell them too; but he knew his bard, and he had learned to read the other’s face as well as he knew his soulmate had learned to read his own. Jaskier inhaled and finally locked eyes with him. He licked his dry lips. 

“Since the first time you let me bathe you.” was the whispered answer. Geralt choked on air. That had been _years_ ago, almost a decade, if not more. He knew it was probably stupid not to have realised it; he supossed his mark was easily seen by someone bathing him, placed in the middle of his shoulder blades. 

“ _Why?”_ the question was ripped out of his chest in a whine. Jaskier must have seen the pain in his face, because suddenly it was him who clutched at the Witcher, one arm cupping his cheek and the other going around his neck, fingers pressing through the leather to touch the hidden mark. He sushed the pained sounds Geralt did not even realised he was making, looking at him so tenderly the Witcher wanted to _weep_ , because he did not deserve this man who could watch him slay beasts and kill men and still not see a monster.

“I- I did not want to give you another reason to leave me.” Jaskier confessed, a single tear running down the side of his face. “I could train to become less of a liability in a fight, and I could learn how to stitch your wounds, and I could sing to earn our supper; but I could never erase your Mark off my body. “ A growl resonated in the Witcher’s chest. “Even if I could, I never would have.” The Witcher pushed his face into the bard’s shoulder, mouthing and scenting him. “I just did not want you to _leave_ ”. He cried, sniffling.

“Never.” The Witcher promised, lifting his head and looking at the bard with such an intensity Jaskier could do nothing else but believe him. “I’ll never leave you, my songbird.” He kissed him then, finally, _finally_ tasting him; nearly completing the palette of senses he had mapped out of Jaskier (the feeling of his thighs on his calloused fingers, the taste of his sweat, the sound of his moans was still missing; but he would take his time fulfilling it. He had the feeling that it would take him years, decades, _centuries_. Centuries that he now knew Jaskier would be there for). Jaskier, of course, being Jaskier, could not keep quiet even when he continued with their frantic touches.

“I was always yours; before I knew about the Mark.” he said, peppering kisses and little bites on the Witcher’s jaw. “I chose you before I knew Destiny chose you for me; and I wanted you to choose me too. I wanted you to love me for _me_ and not for a pair of pretty pictures.” He bit him hard on the neck; the sting making the Witcher re-focus on his bards eyes. “I know you do; so why? Why never reach out for me until now?” He asked, stopping their kissing. The Witcher took a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking his time putting the words he wanted to say in order. 

“Because I’m a coward, and I could not bring myself to have you fully, if it meant losing you anyways.” The Witcher said, rubbing the bard’s Mark again. “I love you, have loved you for so very long; but I _did not know_. You are human, Jaskier. Until this very moment, that meant to me that you would wither away of old age, and leave me alone again.”

“Geralt, I’m _still_ human.” Jaskier said, baffled. 

“Yes, you are human; but you are a Witcher’s soulmate.” He smiled, and the bard could not do anything but return it; because it was full of joy and _hope_. “The only gift the Universe ever gave us Witchers was shared longevity for our soulmates. If we ever found them; if they ever wanted us.” he finished, looking at Jaskier with a burning question in those hopeful and fearful eyes.

“I do, I want you. I want you so very much that no amount of years or longevity will be enough time at your side, my wolf.”

They started kissing once again; and when the felt a tingle of magic sorround them they only smiled and kissed harder; because the magic was bening and shared between the two.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!  
> If you liked it leave a kudos, or better yet, a comment!!
> 
> Kisses


End file.
